The Life and Lies of One Ned Starling
by follow the star
Summary: You could say that this is a tragedy of being forced to face impossible odds to survive. You could call it a symbol of the power of hope, of never giving up, despite the obstacles. But this is the story of life: the life and lies of one Ned Starling.


**A/N: Here's the Ned fanfiction I planned on posting in March; real life got in the way, but hey, better late than never, right? This will be my first multi-chap fic, and I'll try to update regularly. **

**Thanks to that fangirl, Aeron Thana, Emily Starlight, FascinatingRhythm, over the waves, Volcanic Lily, Lapulta J.R.R. Cahill, and 39cluesgal for reviewing my drabble Solus Semper. **

* * *

Sitting in a worn, lumpy chair in Wing B of Massachusetts General Hospital, Ned Starling decided that waiting rooms could quite possibly be one of the worst places in the world.

First of all, he thought, there were the children, innocently playing with used toys with the paint wearing off, unaware of the tragedies about to occur. Then, there were the parents, sitting in the same, uncomfortable chairs as he was, waiting anxiously for the doctor to arrive, praying that their children were fine, that it was simply an error made by that careless pediatrician, that their little girl's illness would be easily cured with a prescription of Motrin or Tylenol. And then, entering every few minutes or so were the nurses, their eyes worn and tired knowing that at least half of the patients sitting here wouldn't live another year.

After all, he thought, Wing B wasn't just another wing in Massachusetts General Hospital. It was where the Oncology Ward was located.

"Oncology?" one might ask, naïve of the horrors that would occur. "What's so bad about the oncology ward?"

And Ned Starling would respond, with a hint of bitterness in his voice, "Oncology: from the Greek word _onkos_, meaning bulk, mass, tumor."

They'd stare at him, confused.

He'd sigh. "Wing B is for cancer patients."

* * *

This wasn't supposed to happen. Once Ted came back from the kidnapping fiasco and the Vespers were finally defeated, everything was supposed to end happily ever after. They would sing and dance happily in some random field after eating a picnic lunch, making philosophical statements about how much closer everyone was, and how delighted they were to be alive before returning to their normal lives. Jonah would go on his millionth world tour, Dan would begin to study karate at some random dojo, Amy would discover her love for Chekhov's novels; the list seemed endless.

Yeah, and pigs could fly.

_Well, they could, if they had wings_, thought Ned. _Of course, they'd have to be aerodynamic and obey Newton's Laws … but that's not the point. Real life isn't all cliché and fairytale like. Unless you're Ted. Freakin' Ted_

Of course Ted would get to live the perfect life his brother could only dream of. He had the perfect girlfriend, with her model-esque looks, witty humor, and charming smile. He was the starring quarterback of the Jefferson High School football team, leading the team to go undefeated 10-0 last season.

Football? How the heck could Ted play football? Wasn't he blind?

Nope. Not anymore.

Despite how glad he was for his older brother, Ned couldn't help but also be full of envy towards him. A few months after he had been rescued from the Vespers and was safely home, the doctors had discovered an experimental operation that would allow him to see again. Two days later, Ted came home from the hospital with 20/20 vision and a huge smile on his face. Three weeks later, he received his driver's license and was driving Ned to another appointment at the hospital as the doctors tried to once again piece together the jumbled puzzle of his brain and ease the searing pain of the headaches he got multiple times a day.

"See you in an hour, Ned!" Ted called out the window as they pulled up to Massachusetts General Hospital. Ned ignored him as he brusquely entered the tall brown building with a slight scowl on his face. It was a warm, sunny day in the middle of June, perfect to go outside to the lawn and launch the latest rocket prototype he had spent the last few days designing and building. But here he was at the hospital instead. He angrily punched the elevator button that would lead him to the doctor's office, where, while he was being poked and prodded with needles, Ted would be off at the movie theater with his girlfriend, sharing popcorn and soda while watching some cheesy romantic comedy.

These were the kind of days when Ned wished he had just stayed in bed and never bothered to wake up.

After what seemed like an eternity later, Ned finally exited what was probably the slowest elevator in Boston. To his shock, he was greeted by the too-cheerful sight of his doctor, Dr. Nichols.

"Hey, Ned!" he called out cheerfully, before leading him into the all – too– familiar examination room. Ned groaned. He hated it when doctors pretended that their patients were just going to buy an ice cream or a bag of candy at some shop in the middle of the city, not because they were sick with some crippling condition.

As he sat on the examination table as the doctor swabbed his arm to draw some blood, Ned couldn't help but feel like a little kid again, wincing in anticipation for the inevitable shot. Although, he supposed, by now he was used to it, considering just how many stupid appointments he had been to in the last few years.

"So, how are you feeling?" Dr. Nichols asked, reaching for his clipboard lying on the desk to write down what looked like every word that came out of Ned's mouth.

"Okay, I guess."

"Still having those headaches?"

"Isn't that why I'm here?"

Dr. Nichols laughed, leading Ned to wonder if his doctor was truly an idiot, or simply insane.

The doctor then peppered him with more questions, scribbling down every little thing Ned said. It was quite annoying, especially the ridiculousness of some of them. Honestly, how was when he said his first word related to the origins of his headaches?

"You know," he said, pausing to think for a moment. "I think it wouldn't be a half bad idea to have another MRI taken."

"A magnetic resonance image … Didn't you make me have one a couple of months ago? And you couldn't find _anything_." Ned replied, inwardly cursing at how much like a whiny child he sounded.

It didn't matter, though: x-rays were probably one of the most miserable things that took place in the hospital.

Especially MRIs.

It wasn't so much that he hated being stuck in that stupid x-ray tunnel for what seemed like forever, but instead that each passing minute reminded him of just how much his life sucked. Every single time he had one, the doctors made it sound like they were positive they would find a cure this time, filling him with false hope that would soon be burst. It made him feel like although, he didn't die from the stupid explosion at the Franklin Institute, he might as well have, considering how much his life had dramatically changed for the worst.

Two years ago, Ned Starling was on top of the world. At fourteen, he had recently been accepted into MIT to study and receive his Phd. in Aerospace Engineering. His most recent rocket design had just been patented, and was in consideration to be used by NASA to launch a satellite into outer space. He was in the process of solving Yang-Mills,: one of the Millennium Prize problems.

Then, everything blew up in his face.

Literally.

His life soon revolved around hospitals and doctor appointments, usually involving flying halfway around the world to see some famous specialist from some random country, only to be told that his headaches were a "medical anomaly," and that there was "no known cure," not to mention also trying to make sure his brother wasn't slaughtered by some pompous Vesper or that his relatives didn't kill each other in the rescue process.

It had been twenty-seven months, forty-two days, and, as he took a quick glance at his watch, seventy-eight minutes since the horrid day he mentally nicknamed Doomsday. Although, he supposed, everyone else seemed to eventually heal and move on. Everyone except him.

Since then, Sinead had begun dating Hamilton (ho would have thought a Holt could actually have brains?).Ted, with his vision restored and a new dog and girlfriend, was no longer his fellow cripple. Ned, on the other hand, was preparing for his twenty second x-ray in the past five months.

He hopped off the table, ignoring yet another headache starting to build up, and followed Dr. Nichols halfway across the hospital to some random wing where all the x-ray machines seemed to be located. After reaching into his jacket pocket and grabbing his iPod to listen to some podcasts about the history of the Millennium Prize (Had it been that long ago since he was working on it?), or the next twenty minutes, he was thrust into the x-ray tunnel that would show whatever damage there was inside his brain.

_Twenty-third times a charm_, Ned thought sarcastically, crossing his fingers.

He closed his eyes and hoped it would all end soon.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Ned was waiting in a different examination room for Dr. Nichols to come back with the test results. He could already predict what would happen. The doctor would walk in the room with the usual puzzled look on his face, comment that there was no visible damage, the origins of his headaches were still unknown, and then recommend he go to some other facility for "further testing."

After all, that's what happened every other time.

Sure enough, when Dr. Nichols walked in a few minutes later, he had that familiar face of confusion as he stared at the images from the MRI.

"Let me guess: everything looks normal, and you want me to go to this hospital in Michigan that's known for its famous neurologist. Just hand me the business card, and I'll be on my way." Ned didn't even want to hear the same spiel that was wasted his time. What was the point? He began to walk out the door when the doctor held out his hand to stop him.

"Not so fast," he said, and Ned spun around and accidently glanced at the pictures he was holding. He did a double take; it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that everything did _not_ look normal. In the lower section of his brain was a golf ball shaped lump.

"What's that?" he asked, a curious expression spreading across his face. It seemed so _wrong_, so stupid when he replayed the scene in his head months later, but at that moment, he felt a little bit pleased that there was something that wasn't right. _Maybe now they can rid me of those blasted headaches_, he had thought. _Finally, I can be cured._

Dr. Nichols paused, unsure of how to answer.

"We aren't sure, but it quite possibly could be a tumor."

"A tumor?" he repeated, not sure he had heard the man correctly.

The doctor nodded. "We'd have to have a stereotactic biopsy to double check, but it seems like you have a tumor in your brain."

A _tumor_?

In his _brain?_

Suddenly, flying to Lithuania to see that half-crazy doctor his father's friend's cousin's medical professor suggested didn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

* * *

**Massive thanks to buddy and amazing author, over the waves [Kassidy], for beta'ing this chapter. Go check out her stories, especially He Goes Swiftly, and Evan/Amy drabble set, even if you hate the pairing; it's amazing.**

**Also, since this is my first ever multi chap. fanfiction, I'm going to be trying something new. As the story progresses, I will be updating regularly on Tumblr in the point of view of Ned. Since the story will most likely be told in multiple perspectives, it'll be a way for you to see the story completely from his viewpoint. Plus, you'll be able to get more insight to the story because you can submit questions that I'll answer, whether it's why Ned is being so moody, or if he'd ever go out with Madison. So check out www. nedstarling . tumblr. com [without the spaces...] ! It should be a lot of fun. **

**[once again thanks to Kassidy for coding the site too. 'Nother reason why you should check it out; to see the great job she did. XD]**

**Oh, and don't forget to review. It really means a lot to me to hear your feedback, even if you tell me you absolutely despise this piece. Thanks!**

**That's it for now….**

**/end long authors note**


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